


Amends

by Kylenne



Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, Black Female Character, Blindfolds, F/M, Face-Sitting, Facial Shaving, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Knife Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Shameless Smut, Submissive Thancred Waters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: Gisele believed she had finally found time for a spot of rest, but then Thancred Waters came sauntering in from the desert, ready made for chastisement.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948408
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Amends

It was a quiet evening at the Sands, all things considered—a most welcome change to Gisele, given recent tumultuous events out in the desert. After being abducted by the Amalj'aa and trading blazing hellfire with a Primal, being courted by no less than three Grand Companies before settling upon the Immortal Flames of her beloved Ul’dah, and unraveling the threads of more than one conspiracy, Gisele could not deny that she relished the attention, such that it was; but a woman could grow weary of that sort of thing, after too much of it. She was rather looking forward to a peaceful night nestled with a good book, and held Urianger’s latest recommendation beneath her arm--the first volume in an epic he named the Leonhart Romances—and so she began to traverse those silent halls back to her quarters.

As it happened, she rounded the corner from the library at the precise moment Thancred strode down the stairs, he who never answered his linkpearl, nor left word of his whereabouts, nor--

“Good evening, my lady. I hope it finds you well.” He greeted her cheerfully, with a cheeky little bow.

Gisele placed her free and mildly indignant hand upon the curve of her hip. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Forgive me, my dear, but I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

Gisele sighed, shaking her head. “You promised to take me to the Gold Saucer, Monsieur Waters, and now it is two days hence.”

“Seven hells!” Thancred gasped, his mouth agape but a moment, as though he were struck a blow. “Oh, forgive me love, it completely slipped my mind. I was reconnoitering about the Amalj'aa encampment at Zanr'ak, when I chanced to learn of materiel being moved by the Garleans, and made to investigate.”

Gisele relaxed, lowering her arm. “Is that why you have not answered me by linkpearl?”

Thancred nodded, spreading his hands apologetically. “The only reason, my dear, I assure you. The Garleans have ways of intercepting such communications through magitek, and I dared not expose our shell to potential compromise.” He crossed the distance between them then, gazing up at her with soft features illumined by the golden glow of the lamplight, and not for the first time it struck her how very beautiful he was. His olive complexion had deepened in the blazing sun of the desert to a light bronze hue that suited him well. “Truly, Gisele, I am sorry; I did not play you false, but was consumed by work. I swear to you that I shall take you as soon as I am able, if you still wish to go.”

When he smiled at her, warmth spread through her chest, and she returned it; she understood well that he had not meant to neglect her, and he was far too charming to stay upset with besides, the way he smiled at her. 

“Thank you, I should very much like that. What of your plans this eve, love?” Gisele asked. 

His smile turned wolfish then, and he gazed up at her with faintly heavy lids. “Well, I had been hoping for a quick bite to eat, after a long day’s reconnaissance…I’m rather famished,” Thancred said, purring.

If a man was bereft of all his worldly possessions, of a surety did he still possess the audacity, Gisele thought. 

She leaned forward, deliberately inhaling deep as she did—for although her momentary pique had passed, she would not let him off the hook quite so easily. She missed toying with him, in truth. And so she caught his chin by her fingertip, tilting his face upward, making a show of examining him with her discerning eye.

“Not with that scruff,” Gisele snorted. “When have you last shaved?”

“I was hardly in a position to do so, deep within hostile territory,” he protested. But then, he smiled all of a sudden, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Would you be so kind, my dear, as to render your aid then? I’m afraid my weary hands might make a mess of this charming face, and I dare not disappoint you so soon a second time after the last.”

Gisele’s full lips curved into a smirk, and she quirked a single, silvery brow at him. “Mayhap.” She drew her finger down the front of his ebon tunic, till it rested upon his heart. “Then, might we see to your hunger. Come with me.”

She took him by the hand, then, and led him through the large double doors down the shadowed corridor leading to the inner circle’s various private quarters. Gisele’s rooms were small, but well-appointed in the Ul’dahn fashion, with lush carpets and sweet incense drifting from hanging censers. 

Thancred shut the door behind them, and Gisele went to the small cabinet in the corner, to set down her book and retrieve a pair of glasses. “You may avail yourself of my bathing chamber, if you so desire,” she said, whilst pouring out cinnamon-spiced wine.

“Won’t you join me?” Thancred asked, with a suggestive little smile.

Glass and book in hand, Gisele sauntered past him, deliberately brushing against him as she did, and nestled upon the plush divan across from her bed, settling down amongst pillows in a myriad of jewel tones, and lowered her eyes to the volume within her hands. 

“No.”

Doubtless, she wished to—but she also wished to prolong his hunger. It would not do to fall so quickly into his arms; and though she was no longer cross with him, Gisele would not be had so easily. Men like Thancred would do well to be reminded as such, from time to time.

“You wound me to my very core, love,” he said, with a melodramatic sigh. “Very well, as you wish. I shall return anon to submit myself to your ministrations.”

She waited until his back was turned to smile.

After a brief moment, the door to the inner chamber shut, and she quickly rose to change into her diaphanous dressing gown of raven black silk. As she did, Gisele’s keen ears noted the sound of water flowing not into the bath, but the telltale staccato tapping of rain from the shower. And she giggled softly in quiet amusement, after taking a long, fiery sip of wine, for it seemed Thancred truly was impatient, this night. For like her, he customarily preferred to luxuriate in the bath for an age—though, unlike her, he could not reheat cooled water with a whispered cantrip and a little rush of aether. But his choice of implement set her to chuckling into her glass, for she knew well that had she accepted his invitation, it would not have been the shower he entered.

She permitted herself to think on him thus—only a moment—before returning to the tome in her lap, and the taciturn young knight who went to answer the challenge of his rival, upon the practice field. Gisele was rather pleasantly surprised to discover that Urianger shared her taste in literature, and so she had never been disappointed in his recommendations. This was no different, for Gisele scarce recalled the glass in her hand, so engrossed was she in the poetry of the headstrong young knights’ duel, clashing gunblades in a spark. Of a surety, did sexual tension between them fair leap from the page, and Gisele wondered if it were intentional; she knew it must be, when the hero’s cocksure rival slashed him across his face, marring his handsome features, and the hero responded in kind.

Lost as she was in the riveting prose, she failed to mark the sound of the water ceasing, and was thus startled by the sudden click of the door to the bathing chamber opening; steam poured forth in billowing clouds, from which Thancred emerged wearing naught but a towel of thin white linen wrapped loosely about his waist. Gisele took a long drink of wine, savoring the cinnamon spice’s slow burn, and her eyes hungrily followed him as he sauntered slowly to the liquor cabinet, and helped himself to the glass she left atop the console. He glanced back over his shoulder, and for the briefest of moments, Gisele thought she might continue their little game, pretending not to notice him there; but her own impatience won out, and she set her book aside at last, retrieving a small, carved wooden box from the end table beside her.

“Come here,” Gisele purred softly.

She knew her eyes were smoldering when he met her level gaze, for he met it with faintly parted lips, and trembled in a way he otherwise rarely did. He said nothing in response, obediently crossing the plush carpet to her, and cast a long shadow in the light of the candelabra. For a long moment, he remained fixed in place before the divan, expectant, and glancing down with anticipation at the box in her small, ringed hands.

“Kneel,” she said, her tone soft but firm.

“Yes, my lady,” Thancred replied, and did so, sinking to his knees before her, with his hands folded demurely in his lap.

Gisele could not help but smile down at him, her skin grown flush at the sight of him. “So deferential you are, messere,” she teased him gently, as she opened the box. “It pleases me greatly.”

“I once vowed that I would follow you to the ends of the earth,” Thancred replied with a cheeky grin. “It rather seems a trivial thing by comparison, to follow you to your couch.”

She reached down to stroke his damp hair, twirling a stray lock about her finger. “And to place your life into my hands? Is that so trivial?”

Thancred’s grin became wider. "They are rather lovely hands.”

Gisele smiled again, and eased herself up off the divan to sit up; the delicate, gauzy silk slipped down her shoulders as she did, and Thancred’s eyes were filled with undisguised yearning, his body taut with anticipation. She gently cupped his cheek, returning his gaze with a level one of her own. “I must ask as always if this is what you truly desire, my dearest.”

Thancred reached up and wrapped his fingers about her wrist, stroking it affectionately. “There are few I trust more in this world than you, my darling girl, and nothing I desire more this night.”

“Very well,” Gisele replied, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Your word of succor, love? Forgive me, but it slipped my mind.”

“Leeward,” Thancred answered, without hesitation. He pouted then, rather comically so. “It pains me to think we do this so infrequently that it’s so easily forgotten. I remember _yours_ —‘Mythal’.” 

Gisele laughed softly, patting his rough cheek—truly, he did need a shave. “Yes. Oh, Thancred. It isn’t that, only that I knew it was some manner of nautical jargon, but I can’t for the life of me keep any of it straight.”

“So you say,” Thancred said, with another melodramatic sigh. “But I think we ought to have more loveplay, just to be sure.”

Gisele smiled. “Shall we then? Keep the word in your heart as always, and do not fear to use it if you must. This is only loveplay, and I shall guide you only to the limits of your choice.”

“I place myself in your capable hands,” Thancred said, lifting her hand to his lips, for an achingly tender kiss. With great reluctance, Gisele slipped it from his grasp, and thus opened the box to retrieve the various accoutrements.

Within it lay a keenly sharp straight razor, a thick leather sharpening strap, and a small brush of the finest badger hair, along with oils and balms of bergamot and his favored sandalwood—as well as a blindfold of plush, black velveteen, woven by her own deft hand.

It was this last item that seized her attention, and she gingerly took it up, inching forward upon the edge of the divan to spread her thick thighs, that the considerable length of her legs should straddle his taut form, and she gazed down upon him. 

“Do you trust me, Thancred?”

Thancred’s eyes fair smoldered with undisguised lust when they met her own, gazing up through his pale lashes.

“With all my heart, Gisele,” he replied, and the seductive manner by which her name rested upon her tongue was something of which Gisele would never, ever tire. 

She leaned down, with a smile, and slipped the blindfold upon his silvery locks, still damp, sliding it down to settle upon his eyes. And she parted his lips with a sultry tongue, meeting his own to stroke it within the heat of his mouth, tasting of cinnamon. His breath was heavy, moaning into her mouth, but she pulled away even as he leaned into her, and she unfolded the razor. 

Of a surety was it kept sharp, but Gisele nonetheless ran the blade firmly against the leather strap, again and again, with just the manner of force and deliberate pace to evoke distinct scraping sounds. Thancred’s broad lips parted once more, and of their own volition, his damp skin growing visibly flush, shivering with anticipation. 

Gisele dragged it out as long as she dared, and finally set the razor aside a moment, to pry open the cork stopper of a little dark glass bottle; into her hand she poured oil of sandalwood, blended with sweet almond, and massaged it into Thancred’s cheeks, softening his light stubble, and drifted her hand down his chin, and onto his neck. Her massaging became firmer then, and he visibly gasped when she coiled her slick fingers about his throat, locking it tightly within her grasp.

Gods, he was beautiful, Gisele thought; the cocksure rogue, the silver-tongued bard with a clever rejoinder for every occasion, was so very vulnerable within her hands, and it thrilled her like little else. For an age did she sit thus, gazing upon him, her thumb stroking the apple lump as she clutched his throat. His lashes fluttered even as she did, and he bit his lower lip, his breath hot and heavy.

She released him then, and turned to the jar of cream, lightly dipping the brush in it and slowly swirled the soft bristles around it again and again, before bringing it to his cheeks with featherlight strokes against his skin, fair caressing him with the bristles as she layered the cream upon him, and her teasing was met by soft, scarcely perceptible whimpering. 

Then, Gisele took up the razor. With the greatest of care did she angle the sharp edge of the blade against his skin, and trailed it down with firm pressure through the scented cream, starting from the lowest point of his flawless cheekbones. 

The moan that escaped Thancred’s parted lips was absolutely delicious. 

Down and down did she scrape the blade upon his skin, shearing him of cream and stubble in tandem, and with achingly slow strokes did she draw it up across his throat, lingering there for an age. 

“Turn for me,” she commanded, and Thancred obediently did so, shifting his body around to lay back against the edge of the divan, stretching out his legs as he settled between her thighs. She bit her lip when he threw back his head, tilting it to one side to bear his neck to her, and she cupped his chin with her hot hand, as she drew the blade across his prone skin. 

As she did, her eyes hungrily trailed down the length of his lean, muscular body, lingering upon the obvious erection he sported through the thin layer of fabric. His hand rested upon it of a moment, and began to fondle himself through it, but it seemed that was not enough for him. Softly groaning, he unbundled the loose knot about his waist, and the damp white linen fell from it; he peeled the rest away, exposing his cock in all its lustful glory, standing to full, rock hard attention, the tip of it brushed against the treasure trail of light hair upon his belly, kissed by a milky dew drop. 

All this, from the mere caress of a blade. 

But Thancred lived for danger, of a surety; it thrilled him like little else, and Gisele had come to understand this well, in their brief time as lovers. He leaned back further, resting his head upon her thigh, and wrapped a shaking hand around the thickness of his shaft, sliding up and down his own cock with every stroke of her sharp blade upon his skin, biting his lip against the soft moans of pleasure it evoked. Shamelessly did he stroke himself as she shaved him, and Gisele found her mouth growing dry at the sight of it, her hand frozen all of a sudden; but she shook herself out of her momentary, lust-filled reverie, determined to retake control.

With a quickness, Gisele brought the blade’s edge dangerously close to his jugular, angling it up in menace as her other hand tightened about a fistful of thick, silver hair. “Did I say you could pleasure yourself?” she said, sharp as the razor in her perfectly still hand. It was all she could do to suppress the tremor in her voice, quick as her heart pounded within her breast, her blood hot in her veins, but she held steadfast, betraying none of the craving it roused in her to have him so utterly at her mercy.

“No!” Thancred hissed, the word choked in his throat. 

“So brazen you are! You forget yourself, boy,” Gisele chastised him, tightening her fingers to tug at his hair. “This is _my_ bedchamber. I am mistress here, and you shall do only as _I_ say. Your pleasure is mine to give or take, as I will it.”

“Ah—”

Gisele’s tone was cloyingly sweet when next she spoke. “I would hear you say it, boy.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he panted. 

She continued her work without incident, tilting his head to and fro, leaving not an ilm unshaven, and when she was done, she reached down to wipe the razor clean upon his towel, and retrieved a small cloth from the side table. With a warm exhalation of aether and a hushed cantrip, it grew hot and damp in her hands, and she gently wiped the remnants of cream and bits of stubble away, brushing him with the soft, steaming cotton until he fair melted beneath her grasp.

“There,” Gisele purred, caressing his freshly smooth cheeks in satisfaction, massaging the sandalwood balm into it until it sank fragrant into his skin. “How does that feel?”

“Somewhat like myself again,” he replied, a bit breathlessly, still trembling. “Now that I’m acceptable, may I at last partake of my lady’s sweetness? I’m so very famished, and I wish to repent for my transgressions.”

Gisele smiled, suppressing a whimper of her own as visions of it swam in her fevered mind.“You may. So long as you remember your place,” she said, as she placed the tools back inside the wooden box. 

With a graceful swing of her leg, she rolled off the divan, and took Thancred by the hands, aiding him to his feet. His vision still shrouded by black velveteen, he had little choice but to permit himself to be guided by her the short distance to the bed, step by step, and thus she did, slowly, needing no sight of her own to know the path. She circled about him, twirling him rather playfully before pressing her hot palms against his pectorals, and gently easing him back upon the soft linen sheets, propping his head with one of the myriad pillows as she followed him.

Gisele sat for a long moment upon his muscled torso, gazing down at him to drink deeply of his beauty, so vulnerable, so trusting; he fair trembled with desire, his heart fluttering beneath her warm hands, and it was as kindling to that which burned within her. The silk of her dressing gown pooled about them both, and she untied it at last, letting it slip away from her as she slithered up his body, leaving a trail of slick pleasure in her wake, glistening upon his bronze skin.

“Does it please you so, to have me at your mercy?” Thancred drawled in a husky tone, with a noticeable tremor in his voice.

She inched forward to straddle his face between her powerful thighs, and hovered there upon her knees, tantalizingly close to his eagerly awaiting tongue; she knew well, from experience, how one's other senses were heightened with the loss of vision, and the heady intensity of loveplay.

“What do you think?” Gisele purred.

“Thinking is rather difficult at the moment, I’m afraid,” he murmured.

Gisele laughed wickedly, and lowered herself to sit on his face, smearing her slick folds against his mouth. Shrouded though his vision was, he nonetheless hooked his arm under and over her leg, holding her inner thigh in a vice grip, while the other found her taut rear to grasp it. His freshly shaven cheeks, still slick with balm of sandalwood, felt like absolute heaven rubbing against her inner thighs.

She gasped in delight as his tongue parted her folds, slipping inside her for the deepest and most wanton of kisses, hot and scintillating, before he spread her hood with a probing finger. And Gisele keened softly, leaning back upon her haunches, and rolled her hips to grind upon his warm, wet tongue. “Enjoying your meal, are you, boy?” she hissed, grinning.

“ _Delicious_ ,” Thancred moaned into her, and all capacity for clever banter utterly shattered by the jolt of pleasure that shot up her spine as the tip of his tongue pressed hard into her swollen pearl, and she bit her own finger against the sensation, moaning incoherently when he began lapping it, rolling his tongue upon her like the roiling waves of a storm churned sea.

Thancred, after all, was silver tongued in every sense of the phrase. And while Gisele had been so pleasured by any number of lovers, of myriad gender, never had she known one to so relentlessly devour her without pause for breath. Of a surety, it seemed almost as if he had no need of it, and he hungrily licked her quite literally senseless, purring into her slick flesh even as she rode his tongue, matching his quick, steady rhythm for a blissful age. He slowed only once, turning his head for the briefest of moments, before returning to lap up her juices like the starving man he was—and reached for her free hand, lacing their fingers together as he pleased her. Scintillating pressure built and built within her with each firm lick of his tongue upon her clit, the heat of friction rising to a crescendo, until she was driven to the very precipice, lost in his mouth; she hunched forward, clutching at his hair, and jerked her hips hard to near smother his face with her swollen, slick sex, desperately riding his strokes for release.

It was when his lips pursed about her clit and suckled her hard that Gisele gasped a final time, her voice leaping several octaves, and she squeezed her thighs about his head, stiffening against him with a final shudder as she cried out in a final debauched wail, clamping her eyes shut to see stars swimming before them. And she rested her brow against the carved headboard, gasping for breath.

Thancred’s smile was soft, affectionate, when she at last steadied herself enough to sit up, and gaze down upon him--even as his chin was smeared with her pleasure, as though he’d messily devoured a freshly ripe fruit. “Is my lady well pleased?” he asked, rather impishly.

“Indeed,” Gisele replied, panting. She rested back upon his chest, shaking and willing herself to cease. “And you, love?”

“Yours are the sweetest of delights my dear. I thank you for the pleasure,” he said. 

Gisele giggled softly, and rose up to shift her quivering limbs. “I’ve not even begun to give you pleasure, boy,” she said. She fell upon his neck, tracing the graceful, sanguine lines of his Sharlayan marque with her tongue, biting down with her teeth to elicit hissing and groaning from his lips. And of a surety did she take her blessed time exploring his body, varying her movements to disorient him; she caught his nipple between her teeth, grazing it with a flicker of her tongue, but then kissed her way across his abdomen, massaging his tense muscles, caressing his scars with her tongue.

At last, did she hover over his rock hard cock, teasing it with hot breaths as she kissed her way about it, gliding her lips across his inner thigh muscles, licking his sack. But then Gisele curled her tongue to lick the single drop of dew from the tip, and he hissed.

“Ah, fuck!”

Gisele grinned, and pursed her lips about his throbbing tip, suckling it hard and slow, and took his shaft in hand, jerking her hand up and down its rock hard length as she did. Her tongue curled about him, teasing him…and then she slipped him into her mouth, ilm by torturous ilm. With every stroke of her tongue, sucking him down deeper and deeper into her mouth, to the back of her throat, Thancred made the most delightfully desperate mewling sounds, and he was as much thrusting up into her throat as she sucking him down. Gisele adored giving these manner of delights as much as receiving, truthfully, and she relished the way he so thoroughly became unraveled in his mouth, his hips rising up off the bed as he shoved his cock into her mouth with gloriously debauched moans, utterly drowning in hedonistic pleasure without a single care.

And as his panting reached a fever pitch, his moans becoming hoarser, his breath labored, his body tensed…and then Gisele withdrew his cock from her mouth, leaving him mercilessly bereft all of a sudden.

“You try my patience, Gisele!” Thancred hissed, through clenched teeth, hands curling fists in the sheets.

“But it’s so much _fun,_ ” Gisele said sweetly, planting kisses along his inner thighs, massaging his sack lackadaisically within her hand.

“I am never this cruel to you,” he countered indignantly.

“Tonight,” Gisele corrected him. “But you have teased me mercilessly on many an occasion, messire.”

“Damn you—”

Gisele reared back and struck him hard upon his tightly muscled ass with the flat of her palm, her hand vibrating with a deeply satisfying sting. “Remember to whom you speak, boy!”

Thancred’s breath was ragged, even as he inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. “Forgive me, Mistress,” he gasped, his voice choked thick with lust.

Gisele’s slender fingers wrapped about the base of his cock in a vice grip, her hand held perfectly, maddeningly still; and oh how Thancred squirmed in her grasp, mad in his insatiable hunger for release. It only goaded her tormenting, to watch him writhe so helplessly beneath her, clawing at the sheets, his thighs quivering with tension. "I might, as yet," she purred.

"Please, my lady," Thancred whimpered. "I beg of you..."

"Speak louder, boy. Are you a man, or a cringing cur? I would hear what you desire, from your own aching lips, and without hesitation," Gisele said, her eyes narrowing.

"I want you to suck me off with that depraved mouth of yours," Thancred growled. "I want to fill your very throat to overflowing with my seed!"

Gisele smiled, sighing in deep content, for she relished to hear such wanton things in truth. "My. Was that so very difficult?"

And then she engulfed him with said depraved mouth, no longer teasing him, driven to give him what he so desperately craved--what they both desperately craved. She would not rest until he was utterly undone, and brought all her prodigious skill to bear, milking his cock with her full lips, sucking him deep within her throat again and again.

At last, Thancred let loose a long, guttural groan from deep in his quivering belly, and as certain as he declared, spilled his pleasure down her throat in a hot, nigh ceaseless torrent. Gisele swallowed it to the last drop, savoring the taste of it--and the smug certainty that she had caused it.

“May I see you, love?” he asked, panting after a long moment.

Gisele smiled, and slithered her way back up the length of his body; gently, she nudged his head up off the pillow, and at last removed the velveteen blindfold, before settling down to sprawl upon his chest, holding him tenderly to help in grounding himself, in the aftermath of their loveplay.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and idly ran her fingers through his disheveled silver locks.

Thancred squinted a brief moment, wincing at the sudden invasion of light, dim though it was, but then his eyes went soft.

“My darling girl,” he whispered, and caressed her flushed cheeks, cradling her face within his hands, then drew her down to his mouth. “My darling, beautiful girl…”

Thancred wrapped his arms about her, wiry and strong, and slipped his tongue deep into her mouth, stroking her own in heat and yearning; the salt of their mutual pleasures upon their lips, they mingled as his tongue caressed her own for what seemed a blissful eternity. And then he sighed in content, rolling with her so that he held her from behind, nuzzling her neck, for his shorter height meant little when they lay within each other’s arms this way. Gisele stroked his forearms with feather-light caresses, again and again, melting back into his embrace, her limbs heavy and content; and her eyes grew heavy, too, when she at last rested her arms upon his.

“You were magnificent,” she said sleepily, and meant every word, even as her lids shut in repose.

“Anything for my lady,” he said, planting a quick peck upon her pointed ear. 

But Gisele had already drifted to sleep.


End file.
